


I hold this place for your return

by MedeaV



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1980s, F/M, Post-Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Soul world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 00:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16106708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedeaV/pseuds/MedeaV
Summary: Scott Lang is just floating through the Quantum Realm without any hope of ever getting out when he lands to his surprise in a hotel room in 1980's San Francisco, with two people he certainly wouldn't have expected, and sees a chance.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to supernutellastuff on tumblr for betaing this!

After about three minutes, Scott is certain that something has gone wrong.

Sure, Hank can be really petty, extraordinarily petty, to the point of letting him simmer in the quantum realm for quite a while, but Hope would have gotten him out by now. She’s not above teasing him at all, which she probably got from her father, but at a certain point, she’d be reasonable, get over it and pull the plug. It’s dangerous down here, after all. Tardigrades and all. But Scott’s still here, which means something’s wrong.

Of course, this time, he can’t get out on his own. The damn new suit. Sure, it wouldn’t have been necessary if they just got him out. And now he’s stuck.

Scott’s never been in here for long. The first time, it was like… an hour? He can’t quite recall. Time is not exactly a thing in the quantum realm. It might feel forever, or it might be over in a breeze. You might experience the vast emptiness or you might hear stuff, see stuff. Or, as Janet’s voice comes to his mind, you might get eaten by a tardigrade or sucked into a time vortex. Rosy future.

Something’s wrong outside. Did someone find them? The FBI, Ross, they probably never stopped looking for Hope and Hank. But they were careful. Nobody would find them on top of that fucking building. They couldn’t have. God, he hopes they’re fine.

He shouts in the mic again that this isn’t funny, that they need to get him out of here now. He knows, somehow, that they can’t hear him. He just knows. Something horrible has happened, and there is nothing he can do.

After a few eternities of screaming, he frustratedly slings the energy container—that looks just like a thermos can—away from him into the crystalline void. Just because of this. He should be out there. He should see what’s happening, should be able to do something. He can’t.

He screams into the abyss again.

* * *

 

They’re not answering. He wonders what happened to them. Whether Hope is okay. She can handle herself, probably better than him, but without knowing what’s facing her, he worries. Abundantly.

He can’t tell how long he’s been in here. Could be hours. Days. Could be five minutes. He can’t feel thirst or hunger or physical fatigue. No such thing when you’re tinier than a crumb of dust.

He’s floating through lights, color, darkness, and all he can do is scream.

* * *

 

They might be dead.

He can’t tell how long it takes him to come up with that idea. He immediately wishes he hadn’t. He thinks about Cassie. The playful robberies. The huge escape slide he had built. The gleeful seriousness on her face. Is she okay? He might never find out.

Hope might not be okay. Probably not. He can push buttons all he wants. He’ll never grow again. He’ll never stop floating.

His mind shuts down at the realization.

* * *

 

He’s on Luis’ couch, holding a pack of ice to his forehead. Must have knocked it somewhere. Luis is making waffles or pancakes or something, babbling about his extended family, some aunt or uncle or cousin.

He sits up slowly, not really understanding a word. Of course, he has knocked his head. He gazes hazily at Luis.

His friend tries flipping the pancake and only barely catches it. “Right, Scotty?”

Scott blinks. “Luis? What are you doing here?”

“Making pancakes,” Luis replies, not turning around. “Knocked your head really badly, eh?”

Scott lays down again, very careful with his head. “No, I mean, I’m—- what happened? How did you get here? You’re not supposed to be here. You can’t be here.”

Luis’ voice takes on a strange tone. “I don’t know, Scotty. I don’t know.”

Scott can see him, without having moved, and he looks pale, not his skin color, but everything, like looking through milky glass. He has a confused expression on his face. “You’re not here,” Scott says slowly. “Are you?”

“No, Scotty,” Luis replies, getting a little paler. “I’m not here.”

Scott is standing, suddenly, and he grabs Luis’ shoulders. He can feel him. He knows this is the bullshit his mind produces, but he’s  _ here _ , he can  _ feel _ him. Luis smiles at him, kind of sadly. “You need to find a way out, Scotty. You have to.”

Then everything goes dark again.

* * *

 

He’s back in the prison cell.

Drumming on the metal toilet. Guys shouting at him to shut up. He keeps drumming, humming along in his head.

It’s everything in his head, right?

He’s floating through purple loops, round and round. Every time he looks back, he’s in the same place. He’s not getting anywhere.

He’s back with Maggie, back when they were married. She chides him for something illegal that he has done. He freezes when she calms down and kisses him.

He’s in the hospital, pacing up and down the hall, hearing Maggie’s agonized screams and the calming voice of the nurse. The doctor rushes in and he follows as if he was sucked into the room, Maggie is holding their little girl, their little Cassie-

He’s staring at the wall of his prison cell again.

He’s being chased by a triangle, down the hoops, down the hoops.

Time is nothing. He is everything and nothing. Is he time?

Something touches his head. He turns around and it’s his mother, with her ebony hair, but he’s shrinking, shrinking, shrinking, and she calls for him but-

It’s all dark and deadly quiet again.

There is no time. There is no space. There is no movement. Is he? How can he be sure?

A cloud floats up to him, he tries to push it away, but it engulfs him anyway, no matter how much he might try to swim away-

The triangle catches him and splits him down the middle.

He can see himself, look at himself, but the other he looks very dazed, almost drugged-

He drops unconscious again.

* * *

 

He makes a plan and starts moving.

It’s not going to do anything, to go a few particles to one side or the other, and it’s going to take him weeks, but it’s something to do. He tries to keep the direction straight, even though he probably doesn’t succeed. It feels as if moving will help him keep his sanity.

A sort of white snake follows him. It doesn’t feel ill-spirited, so he doesn’t worry and continues. The snake is slithering over the ground. He floats up and it follows him.

There is a big, gray mountain that he lands on, pulling himself up with hands and feet. The dirt on his hands feels real, through the gloves. The snake overtakes him, effortlessly sliding over the sharp edge at the top. He scrambles to get after it.

The mountain dissolves, suddenly, and he’s falling, falling, he looks down and there is a lake red as blood-

He’s swallowed whole in the blink of an eye.

* * *

 

He’s in a hallway again, the flowery wallpaper rotting off the wall. He follows the corridor towards the only light. He can’t hear his steps. The light comes from a window and there’s a figure in front of it, a figure with a gleaming left arm made of metal, and he walks towards it, wondering dazedly what Barnes is doing here, whether he really is here, he can’t remember ever seeing this-

There is a noise as his right foot touches the carpet, and that very instant, there is something cold and sharp at his throat-

Barnes turns around rather slowly, shaking off whatever thoughts, he’s shirtless and the angry scars on his left shoulder almost glow in the dim light. He has no weapon. He is not holding the knife to his throat. He blinks in confusion. “Natalia. Wait.”

The knife dips in a bit deeper, enough to make him hold his breath. Barnes tilts his head in confusion, studying his face. “I know you. You seem familiar.”

“Yeah, hi, I’m Scott, we’ve met,” he replies in a high-pitched voice. “What—why are you here?”

The person behind him snorts. Barnes doesn’t look like he’s even considering answering that. “You can’t be here,” he says, slowly, as if figuring it out himself. “You can’t be.”

“I can make him go away very quickly,” a female voice hisses. Scott gulps. The knife tells him precisely what she means.

“Wait,” Barnes says again, pushing away a bit from the window. He’s not wearing pants either, just some boxer shorts. Scott can’t look left and right, but this looks like a crappy hotel room. Gosh, why is Barnes having hookups in the quantum realm? Why did he have to walk in on that? “How did you get here?”

“I got stuck in the quantum realm and I can’t get out,” Scott explains. “How the fuck did you get here?”

“No, no, I meant,  _ here _ ,” Barnes repeats. “In this time. This room.”

“I walked down the hallway, saw the light from the window,” replies Scott, even though it’s not a good answer.

“The door is fucking locked,” the female voice hisses again. He realizes she sounds a bit afraid.

“Look, I-” Scott groans.  _ In this time.  _ “What year is it?”

“1983,” the female voice replies, leaving no doubt that she thinks he’s completely mental.

“You’re not from-” Barnes shakes his head. “Nat, he’s not from here. Not from this time.”

“It’s 20-fucking-18,” Scott agrees. “Could you tell her to- wait, Nat? As in, Natasha?”

“Do you want me to slit your throat?” she threatens. “’Cause it sure sounds like it.”

“No, wait, 1983, she’s probably not even alive yet,” adds Scott hastily. “Please don’t slit my throat.”

“Who?” Barnes asks, looking quite uncomfortable. “Who is not alive yet?”

“Oh, you know, Natasha, don’t remember her last name,” Scott hurries to say. “Red hair, goes by the totally not creepy moniker of Black Widow, I think she was a SHIELD agent before, you know, kicked me in the balls once and- she’s standing right behind me, isn’t she?”

The knife is gone suddenly. Barnes looks incredibly amused. “You kicked him in the balls once?”

“I don’t know this guy,” probably-definitely Natasha replies. “And if he so much as turns around, I’m ripping his fucking head off.”

Scott’s hands shoot up. As if they felt threatened by him—he who’s cornered between two master assassins. Who are definitely not supposed to be here but who are not paling and fading like Luis did either. Is he time-travelling? Is that a thing that happens in the quantum realm? Why else would Natasha say it’s 1983? This has never happened to anyone that he knows of. Janet didn’t say anything of that kind. It seems very real here, though. The light, the dust floating around, the mould on the wall, the smell of-

He hears clothes rustling behind him and realizes Barnes is also quite naked and remembers what he thought about hookups and- “Guys! What the hell were you doing?”

“What the fuck does it look like,” Natasha hisses. Barnes looks thoughtful but not at all embarrassed.

“You’re not even supposed to be here,” Scott returns, catching himself before he looks over his shoulder. “In 1983! You can’t be older than, I don’t know, three years at best. Seriously, what the fuck?”

“I was born in 1929,” Natasha’s calm voice replies.

“19- what?” he repeats. “Are you serious?! Are you seriously telling me you’re 90 years old? What the fuck?”

“It’s 1983,” Natasha repeats calmly. “Technically, 54.”

“You’re not  _ 54 _ ,” Scott insists. “I haven’t even seen you yet- no, I’m not turning around- but, just, no  _ way _ .”

“Get your fucking nose out of my business,” Natasha commands coldly, walking around him and leaning against the window sill next to Barnes, crossing her arms. “So. Who the hell is that guy?”

“I’m not sure,” Barnes replies. “But I know him. Somehow.”

Natasha snorts. “So, you’re gonna be mad if I dump his body in the San Francisco bay?”

“He says he’s from 2018,” Barnes reminds her. “Nobody is going to believe him about anything.”

“Wait, San Francisco?” Scott interrupts. “We’re in San Francisco?”

“See, he’s a total lunatic,” Barnes adds.

“Still, you know Karpov,” Natasha replies. “If even a hint of this leaves this room, we’re both dead at best.”

“You really don’t want to tell me what you’re talking about, are you?” Scott remarks. “Other than where you’ll dump my body.”

“We should watch him,” Bucky agrees. “I have a feeling that… I don’t know, what he’s saying rings true to me.”

Natasha checks her watch. “I need to go anyway. I’ll take him.”

Bucky grins. It’s creepy because Scott has never, ever seen him smile. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“Oh, I do, darling,” Natasha replies with her lopsided smirk. “But I know I’m not gonna hesitate a second if he betrays us.”

“Guys,” Scott comments. “This is hella weird.”

They continue to ignore him. Natasha gets on her toes and presses a quick kiss on Barnes’ lips. “All right. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yes,” Barnes agrees, combing through her hair with his non-metal fingers. “I’ll see you.”

Natasha throws her knife in her handbag, then grabs Scott by the arm and drags him through the door, slamming him against a wall. “It won’t take me five seconds to kill you. You understand?”

Scott gulps and nods hastily. 1983 Natasha is way scarier than 2016 Natasha. “You leave my sight,” Natasha continues, “I’m gonna assume you’re trying to betray us and I’m going to kill you without asking a single question. Are we clear?”

“Crystal clear,” Scott hurries to say. “Don’t leave your sight. Got it.”

Natasha drops his arm that she had pressed against his neck and stalks down the corridor. It doesn’t quite look the same as before, even though he couldn’t tell what’s different. The light flickers. He struggles to catch up with her. “Seriously? You hooked up with Barnes in 1983?”

She looks at him confused. “Who?”

“Barnes,” Scott repeats. “He’s—you don’t know his name?”

“He doesn’t  _ have  _ a name,” Natasha replies simply, hitting the elevator button.

“Yes, he does,” Scott disagrees. “Barnes. You know, Captain America’s childhood best friend. Captain America. Steve Rogers.”

Natasha frowns, entering the elevator and crossing her arms. It smells of urine. “You don’t remember any of that?” Scott asks again.

“I think I remember Steve,” she mutters.

“He tried to kill you,” Scott adds. “Not Cap, Barnes. Do you remember that?”

She opens her mouth. “I think—I think I do. Oh God, what’s happening?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Scott replies. “But it’s not 1983.”

The doors slide open and—it’s  _ very much  _ 1983\. He sees the cars outside and the fucking phones and the horrible hairstyles-

Natasha walks out, putting her sunglasses on, blending in perfectly. She hardly turns her head but he gets the feeling she knows exactly where he is.

They walk around at least a dozen blocks, changing directions wildly until they get to a black Pontiac Fiero. Scott stares in amazement as Natasha unlocks the door. He remembers these cars from his childhood, remembers staring at them mouth wide open. Natasha pushes the passenger door open for him. “Come on. I have to be home.”

“You have a home?” Scott questions, trying not to knock his head. “Wait, we’re in San Francisco? In 1983?”

Natasha snorts, starting the engine. “You really need to be told five times, don’t you?”

“Okay, you don’t know, by any chance, a guy called… Hank Pym?” Scott tries.

Natasha frowns. “The SHIELD agent? Sure.”

Scott’s heart skips a beat. “Really? Fuck, that’s great, I—I know where his house is, we need to-”

“I need to go home,” Natasha interrupts. “And you need to shut up.”

“I can’t shut up,” Scott replies. “We’re in 1983, you’re here and you look absolutely the same as 30 years later, you’re screwing Barnes, a guy whose name you don’t even know and I think you never even talked to as far as I know, and you have a fucking Fiero and—gosh, I can’t handle this.”

“If you don’t shut up about him, I swear to God,” Natasha mutters, yanking the car to the left.

“What are you even doing here?” Scott asks. “In 1983 in San Francisco?”

“Working,” Natasha replies vaguely, not taking her eyes off the road.

“Yeah, but what?” Scott probes. “For whom?”

Natasha throws him a menacing look and he shuts up. “You already know way too much.”

“You know, I didn’t intentionally walk in on you and Barnes,” Scott tries. “Did I? Walk in?”

Natasha shakes her head. “You just showed up. Out of nowhere. How exactly did you do that?”

“This is going to sound weird.” Scott sighs. “Look, I have this suit that allows me to shrink to about ant-size.”

“Like the one Hank Pym is rumored to have,” Natasha remarks. “Yes.”

“Why do you know everything?” Scott asks. “Well, anyway, if I shrink too much, I get smaller than a molecule and I end up in something called the quantum realm.”

“Okay.” Natasha casually looks to the left and changes lanes. “So you got too small?”

“Yeah, and Hank and Hope and—they were supposed to get me out, but-” Scott sighs. “I don’t know. They didn’t, I don’t know why, I’m worried something happened to them, and—I I don’t know, but I’m stuck here now, and suddenly I walk into a crappy hotel room in 1983 San Francisco where- right, don’t mention that.”

“So you’re in the quantum realm right now,” Natasha concludes. “We’re in the quantum realm.”

“Why are you so okay with that?” Scott asks.

“I didn’t say I believe you,” Natasha replies. “Now, you shut up until we get home, thanks.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Oh, good,” Natasha mutters, picking up a handwritten note that Scott can’t read for the life of him. “He’s not home.”

“Who?” Scott asks, walking over the giant bamboo mat. This place looks way more stylish than that crappy hotel room, squeaky clean and bright.

“My fiancé,” Natasha replies, folding the note. “Take your fucking shoes off.”

Scott almost topples over. “You have a fiancé?! Wow, I really knew jack shit about you.”

“I’d have preferred for it to stay that way,” Natasha remarks, carefully arranging the daffodils in an expensive-looking Chinese vase. “Come on, pick up your stuff, I’m gonna lock you in the guest room.”

“I thought your fiancé wasn’t home!” Scott complains. “Wait, I have so many questions. When you said you were going to end up dead if someone found out about you and Barnes, did you mean your fiancé?”

“No,” Natasha replies simply, picking out a withered daffodil and throwing it in the trash.

“Then who?” Scott probes impatiently.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Jesus. Our handlers.”

“Right,” Scott says slowly. “You’re working.”

Natasha groans and points all around her, the vase, the perfectly clean glass table, the spotless bamboo mat. “Fucking Christ, just look around you! What does this look like to you? The home of a loving young couple? No way! Can’t you see that all of this is just a fucking scam and—Jesus Christ.”

She rushes past him, disappearing through a door to the right of the hall. Scott picks his shoes up and follows her as quietly as possible. It’s a small, windowless room, just a bed and nothing else. There’s blood on the wall, dried blood. “Alexei hasn’t painted over it yet,” Natasha’s cold voice says, rustling with the sheets. “Just ignore it.”

It’s definitely smarter not to ask her why she has a prison cell in her apartment, with blood on the wall. And why she calls it  _ the guest room _ . He sets his shoes on the concrete floor.

“I need to work,” Natasha adds, walking to the door. “But don’t try anything, I’ll be right outside.”

“Won’t,” Scott promises, because he’s still scared of her. “I’ll just. Sleep.”

She locks the door two times. He lays down on the bed that feels quite exactly like the one in his prison cell, staring at the ceiling and wondering whether he will wake up in the same place.

* * *

 

He wakes up because the air starts to become stifling. Right, San Francisco temperatures, a windowless room, no air conditioning—-oh God, he’s still here. There is no light, just a thin stripe coming in through under the door. He knows where he is. He has never been anywhere so long, that’s not how the quantum realm works. This must be…something. Something else.

He gets up, socks only, and starts pacing the few feet from one end of the room to the other. He needs to get out of here. Not out of this room, Natasha would kill him. He needs to get out of this whole place, the quantum realm or whatever this is. If he gets to Hank’s house, if he gets the suit or just some of the particles, he can get out here. He thinks. Technically, the particle wouldn’t be real, right? If it’s in the quantum realm already? God, this whole thing is going to make his head explode. His throat is dry.

Wait. His throat is…

He actually feels into his mouth. Dry. This can’t be. Did he leave the quantum realm? Is this…?

The key turns in the lock and he’s blinded. He can make out Natasha. She’s holding a finger over her mouth. He sits down on the bed and puts his shoes on. Natasha ushers him to the door, down the stairs, into the underground garage. “Where are we going?” Scott asks.

“We’re meeting James,” Natasha replies, getting into a significantly less stylish Volvo 200. “And then we can figure out whether I stab you or not.”

“Thanks,” Scott replies drily, getting in as well. “Wait, did you just say-”

“I meant Bucky,” Natasha corrects. “I meant- fuck.”

“I didn’t tell you his first name,” Scott remarks. “Definitely not his given name.”

“I know, you dumbass, shut up,” Natasha hisses, letting the engine howl. The car sounds incredibly cheap.

“What else do you remember?” Scott asks carefully.

Natasha drives two miles before she even answers. He assumes it’s an answer. “Just tell me. Tell me what I should remember.”

“I don’t know that much about you,” Scott admits. “You were working for SHIELD. You were an Avenger. You had to testify before Congress. Do you remember that?”

“Yes,” Natasha replies fast. “All of that.”

“Do you remember the Sokovia accords?” Scott asks. “Cause you signed them.”

“I did,” Natasha answers, chewing on her bottom lip. “Oh God.”

“And that’s when you kicked me in the balls,” Scott explains. “I shrunk and then you brizzled me with your armlets.”

“Really?” Natasha asks. “I don’t remember that.”

“Yeah? Well, you did,” Scott replies, kind of annoyed. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember-” Natasha stares blankly ahead. “Oh God.”

“What?”

“We’re almost there,” Natasha says.

* * *

 

“I remember a fight,” Bucky says. “A big fight.”

“Yes,” Natasha agrees. “I do, too.”

“Against whom?” Scott asks. “Whom did you fight?”

“Aliens,” Bucky says slowly. “There was a—-big purple guy, and he-”

“Yes,” Natasha continues. “He snapped his fingers and we all turned to dust.”

“Wait, all?” Scott interrupts. “Does that mean that, Hank and Hope and Janet, and Cassie and Luis and-”

“They might be,” Natasha replies, wiping at the corner of her eye. “I don’t know.”

Bucky looks at her, intensely so. Natasha stares back at him. There’s some unspoken conversation happening. “Scott,” Natasha says slowly. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a second?”

“What,” Scott asks. “I thought you wouldn’t leave me out of your sight.”

“Just go,” Barnes says, without moving his eyes. “Please.”

Scott rolls his eyes, gets up and shuts the door behind him. He’s in the hall of what he assumes is another safehouse. Hotel room, his ass. No damn way. This is some serious spy shit.

“A big purple guy,” he mutters to himself, pacing up and down the worn-out carpet. “Big purple guy. Aliens… Oh, shit.”

He doesn’t remember any of this. They had been on the run for a bit, not necessarily keeping up with the rest of the world. Could they have missed aliens? Well, if they didn’t land on that very roof—yes. Very well. That would explain why Nat and Barnes are here. Turning to dust must have made them-

Oh, shit. Hope and Hank and- Jesus Christ. Did they turn to dust? That would explain why they didn’t answer. Does that mean they’re…dead? But Barnes and Natasha are here. In the quantum realm or wherever. Why did he find them? Why not Hope? God, he-

He doesn’t know anything anymore. This is not the quantum realm he knows. He had to drink and use the bathroom and sleep. This is much more real. He must be going crazy. But why 1983?

He looks at the closed door. There’s not a single sound coming out. They’re together. That’s why they’re in 1983. Because that’s the time when they were together. Maybe the only time. Who knows. Maybe the only time they were happy together.

But there’s a big purple alien who has the power to kill everyone with the snap of his fingers. Somewhere out there. They have to get out. They have to fight and defend the earth and defeat that guy. It’s as simple as that. The hard part is getting out.

They need to break into Hank’s house. If he can experience hunger and thirst, this is something real, which means the particles are going to be real as well. They can get out with this. He just has to convince them to go along with this, because alone, he’s fucked.

Natasha opens the door. Bucky looks at him expectantly. “So. You want to break into Pym’s house.”

“He has developed a particle that reduces the distance between atoms,” Scott explains, a little proud of himself. “We can use that to get back to our normal size. To get out.”

Natasha produces a big map of the city. “Show us where.”

He starts searching the map for that particular corner. The house is old as fuck. It must have been there. Maybe that’s why he ended up here, because here is the way out. He circles the block as soon as he has found it. Barnes and Natasha exchange a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” Barnes says. “That’s the house? You’re sure?”

“Yes,” Scott insists. “The house is old as hell. It has probably been there for fifty years.”

“That would be enough,” Natasha mutters. “We can drive by, just to check.”

“I have to check in with Karpov tonight,” Bucky replies. “Can you take care of the preparations yourself?”

Natasha smirks. “Darling, do I look like I need your help?”

“I just hope Hank isn’t home,” Scott mutters. “That would be—I don’t know. Weird.”

“I’ll take him out if necessary,” Natasha says. “Non-lethal. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Unless something comes up, we can break in later tonight,” Bucky says. “Am I forgetting something?”

“Nothing that I can think of,” Natasha replies. “I’ll take care of everything.”

“I already broke in there once,” Scott tells them, without mentioning how that ended.

“I need to get back,” Natasha says, dangling her car keys in front of his face. “Scott, can you wait in the car?”

This is the second time today they’re throwing him out. Fine, whatever. He grabs the keys. Better than being watched without pause.

Natasha touches Bucky’s knee, rubbing slowly over his thigh. “You wanna do this?”

Bucky frowns, looking to the door where Scott disappeared. “Yes. I think.”

“Get back?” Natasha asks softly. “Continue the fight?”

He smiles, touching her face. “What do  _ you  _ want?”

She closes her eyes, leaning against his hand. “Yes. I feel like I need to get back. I have to.”

Bucky runs his thumb over her lower lip. “I’ll go wherever you go.”

Natasha smiles, leaning in to kiss him. “Then let’s go. To the future. Back to the present. Whatever.”

He runs his finger through her hair. “All right. Better go before that idiot takes off with your car.”

“I took the least fancy one on purpose,” Natasha replies smiling. “All right. I’ll pick you up.”

* * *

 

“You remember turning to dust?” Scott asks. “Do you?”

“Yes,” Natasha replies, looking stoically ahead. “Wasn’t great.”

“And you remember the big purple guy?”, Scott asks. “What’s he like?”

Natasha sighs. “Big. He was hunting the stones, the—Infinity Stones, I think, is what they were called. And when he got all of them… snap.”

“Do you remember what you were doing during the battle?” Scott asks.

“Parts,” Natasha replies briefly. “Why?”

“But you don’t remember kicking me in the balls?” Scott probes again.

“No, I don’t,” Natasha repeats, sounding very annoyed. “Why the fuck do you ask? I remember—I remember punching—Bucky or James or, I guess, I remember punching him in the balls. He was trying to kill me.”

“Did you?” Scott asks, very amused. “I should ask him about that.”

Natasha throws him a weird look. “What?” Scott asks again.

“Nothing,” Natasha replies, taking a turn to the right. “Let the window down. It should be on the right.”

They’re going down the hill, which is right already. He cranks the window down (he couldn’t tell when he did that the last time) and spies into the darkness. All these single homes. He waits anxiously. If the house is not there, he’s fucked. They’re all fucked.

Natasha is remarkably quiet. “Hey,  Nat,” Scott says slowly, not taking his eyes off the houses they’re passing. “What’s your last name? I forgot.”

“Hm?” He wonders what she was thinking about. “Oh. Romanova. Natalia Romanova.”

“Okay, so…” He holds his breath, but it’s not the right house. “Which one is it? Natasha or Natalia?”

“That’s the same thing, really,” she replies, amusement in her voice. “Like- like Robert and Bob, or William and Bill. You don’t know a lot about Russian names, do you?”

Scott almost leaps out of the window, if not for his seatbelt. “There! There! Oh God, it’s just as ugly as I remember it.”

Natasha leans forward, without going slower. “Hm. No lights.”

“If he’s on a mission, with his wife,” Scott states. “Wouldn’t that mean his daughter is still there? I- Gosh, Hope.”

“It’s August, they might just be on vacation,” Natasha says, stopping and pulling backwards into a driveway. “Let’s watch it a bit.”

“Didn’t you say you had to go back?” Scott questions. “Your fiancé and all?”

“I’ll make something up,” Natasha replies simply. “And don’t mention him.”

Scott snorts. “Lots of things I don’t get to mention.”

“You know way too much about me,” Natasha replies. “Way more than pretty much anyone.”

“Other than Barnes,” Scott suggests.

“Other than—him,” Natasha repeats, drumming on the steering wheel. “I guess.”

“Does Barnes know your husband?” Scott asks. “Sorry, fiancé. Have they ever met?”

Natasha snorts. “No. Why would they? Why the fuck are you asking?”

“Do you remember any of your future together?” Scott continues. “Like, your wedding, honeymoon, I don’t know? Does he die? Cause he’s definitely not around in 2018.”

“I know he isn’t,” Natasha mutters. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.”

“Just like you don’t remember kicking me in the balls,” Scott adds sourly.

“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you,” Natasha remarks, reaching for her purse on the backseat. “Okay, I’m gonna ring. You stay exactly where you are.”

Scott watches as she puts on a black wig and glasses. “If they open, what are you going to tell them?”

“Something,” Natasha replies helpfully, pushing the car door open. “Quiet, lights off, don’t get noticed.”

“I wish I could just shrink,” Scott mutters, sinking into his seat.

Natasha does ring, without anyone answering. She waits with her hands in her pockets. Scott waits with his breath held. She knocks on the door. Nothing.

She waits a couple of minutes, then comes back and climbs into the car. “Okay. Tonight. We cut the phone line, cut the alarm-”

“Climb in through the window, get into the basement, I know how to crack the safe,” Scott finishes. “I’ve been in there. I know.”

Natasha grins. “You stole that suit once already, right? How does that feel?”

“Incredibly weird,” Scott mutters. “You know, Hank is—well, I’m dating his daughter, so he’s kind of my father-in-law, and- his daughter is like three years old right now, that’s super weird. I hope I don’t meet her.”

“You won’t,” Natasha assures him, pulling out of the driveway. “Come on. I’ll lock you in the guest room again.”


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha has a thief bag just like he has. They’re in a Honda CR-X, because apparently Natasha has about 15 cars, and they picked up Barnes at some street corner. They don’t really talk. Scott takes the backseat.

Hank’s house looks just as empty as earlier. It’s somewhere between 3 and 4 a.m. Natasha hands him a hoodie. “James will disable the phone line. I’ll take care of the alarm. You climb in through the window.”

“The one in the second floor, yeah,” Scott replies. “How do I know you’re done? These days, we have comms.”

“Just wait five minutes and trust us,” Bucky says, getting out of the car. “Okay?”

Scott breathes deeply and nods.

* * *

 

Everything goes fine when he climbs in. The house looks just as he remembers, with a few exceptions that are Hope’s baby stuff. Hank never changed anything after Janet disappeared into the quantum realm. Where he is now. It’s hard to remember that when everything looks  _ so  _ real.

There is no one home. Not Hank, not Janet, not Hope. Which is great, because he has no idea how to explain this to any of them. He walks down into the basement. The finger scanner. He smiles to himself, rushing into the kitchen, taking the fingerprint of a doorknob and holding the liquid-filled ring over the gas cooker. Just like last time. Next time. Whatever.

He holds the fingerprint against the scanner. When it turns green, somebody hums appreciatively. Scott turns around. It’s Barnes and Natasha, of course. The door opens. They slip in. The safe is still the same. Natasha’s heist bag has all the inflatable mattresses and funnels and nitrogen he needs. They stand back and watch as he freezes the safe, they all hide behind the hanging blanket when the safe bursts open. There is not an ant to be seen, and Scott knows how to spot them by now.

The suit is not there, which is not all that surprising, but there’s dozens of glass containers with the particles. Scott hurries in. How are they going to get big, with just the particles? No suit, no discs to throw. Well, who is he kidding? All of this house just stems from his mind. No way has Barnes ever been in here. Thus, any way he can think up will work, if they just believe in it.

“Is this dangerous?” Natasha asks while Scott puts the glass containers on the table.

He shrugs. “None of this is real, right? So it shouldn’t be? Except it’s real enough to work, hopefully. I don’t know.”

“I’ll try it first,” she offers. “What do I do?”

“Let’s all take it together,” Scott suggests, unscrewing the containers. “What feels right to you?”

They look at each other. “Drink it,” Barnes says and Natasha nods.

She picks up one container, sniffs and pulls a face. “A little is enough?”

“Definitely, you have no idea,” Scott agrees, handing another container to Barnes. “You too.”

Barnes doesn’t drink it, though, instead watching Natasha take a sip. Jesus Christ. Natasha crunches up her nose, putting the flask away and wiping her mouth. “It’s not working,” Barnes remarks.

“It will,” Scott assures him. “Just take it already.”

Nothing happens to Natasha, still. She looks up at Barnes. “You know. You know why it’s not working.”

Scott groans as she turns pale. Barnes looks completely shocked and grabs onto her hand. “Barnes,” Scott speaks up. “Let her go. There’s no point.”

They’re not listening to him. Barnes drops the particles, not caring that the container breaks and spreads all over the floor. He’s rubbing her hand between both of his as if that would help. “Barnes,” Scott tries again. “It won’t work on her. No matter what you do.”

“Why,” Barnes whispers, touching her cheek. Scott wonders what that feels like. “Why?”

Scott sighs. It’s hard, really hard. He had hoped to get around this. “She’s not here. That’s why she can’t get out. Because she’s not really here.”

Natasha smiles sadly. Barnes grabs her shoulder. “But she’s here. She has to be. This is-”

“You’re imagining her,” Scott interrupts. “You’re reconstructing her from memory. That’s why she can’t remember anything that you didn’t witness. That’s why her fiancé never shows up, because you never actually met him, and why she can’t remember any of their future together. That’s why she doesn’t remember kicking me in the balls, because you weren’t there for that. She only knows what you know.”

Barnes looks really desperate at this point. Natasha is even paler now. “Nat? Tell me that’s not true. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” Natasha replies, stroking over his hair. “I’m really sorry.”

“She can’t come with us,” Scott says. “I’m sorry, too, but it just won’t work. You have to let her go.”

“I don’t wanna go,” Barnes whispers. “I don’t wanna go without you.”

“She’s out there,” Scott reminds him. “She never turned to dust. You can go and… well, I don’t know what’s the deal with you two in 2018, but I bet you could figure that out, rather than live with an illusion.”

“You need to go,” Natasha whispers. “This is not real. They need you, out there.  _ I  _ need you.”

Scott really hoped they never had to have this discussion. He just wanted to leave with Barnes and then see how to explain to him that Natasha didn’t make it. He never wanted this to be a choice, because he’s seen their life here and he’s not sure what on earth could lead Barnes to give this all up. Well, here they are.

“You can’t fade,” Barnes pleads. “No. You can’t fade away like this. Don’t leave me.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Natasha assures him. “You need to fight, one more time. Just this time. You can do it.”

Scott’s heart twitches at how she’s encouraging Barnes. That’s how he remembers her. Scott will never look at her with the same eyes again. Barnes has started crying. “I love you. I know I didn’t say it but-”

“I know,” Natasha interrupts. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.” She smiles sadly. “I love you too. I mean, I think.”

“I hate to do this again,” Scott says. “But Barnes, we have to go.”

Barnes still stares at her with longing. He must have known. All this time, subconsciously, he must have known. Natasha is so pale. “I don’t wanna go.”

“It could never last,” Natasha whispers, extending a hand in his direction. “Go. Please. Go.”

“Jesus Christ, Barnes,” Scott adds. “Just ask her out in real life.”

Barnes reaches for one of the glass containers that’s still on the table, eyes entirely on Natasha. “You will be fine? Promise me.”

Pale Natasha smiles. “I don’t know, you idiot. Go and find out.”

Scott holds his flask and his breath as Barnes grabs her hand and drinks the particles. She’s still smiling, a goodbye kind of smile. A sad but happy smile. Scott hurries to drink his as well before everything collapses.

Barnes starts screaming.

* * *

 

They’re alone. They’re lying on the ground. It’s green, everything is green. Scott groans. “Barnes?”

Barnes doesn’t reply. Scott turns his head, which hurts like fuck. He’s in his suit. Which makes sense because that’s how he went in. Which strongly points toward them having returned to the real world. But he has no clue where he is. He snaps his helmet off. There’s a sky and huge trees, palms or something. Tropical rainforest.

He groans again, pushing himself up on an elbow. Barnes is lying on the ground spread like a child about to make a snow angel. “Come on, scary guy. Get up.”

Barnes stares up at the sky and doesn’t move. “God, I should have stayed.”

Scott snorts, pushing himself on all fours. “Yeah, come on, that would have been weird. I mean, really? You knew she wasn’t real. Don’t tell me otherwise.”

Barnes doesn’t answer. Scott looks around. He’s never seen this place. He has no clue how he ended up here. “Now, any clue where we are?”

“Wakanda,” Barnes replies without any enthusiasm. “Where I got dusted. I know this place.”

“Great, then let’s go and find the others,” Scott suggests. “I need to get to the US so I can get back into the quantum realm, there’s probably more dusted people in there-”

Barnes groans loudly. Scott snorts and sits down. “Oh, you know what, that can wait. I just need to see you running into real Natasha again. Wonder how she reacts to seeing you again, after watching you turn to dust.”

“I swear to God, if you say even a word to her,” Barnes mutters, slowly sitting up. “Jesus Christ, I should have stayed.”

“You know I have to explain to them where I found you,” Scott suggests.

“Again, one word,” Barnes threatens, patting dust from his pants.

“So, what’s your game plan?” Scott asks. “Take her out for dinner? Reminisce about the past?”

“You do know half the universe turned to dust not long ago,” Barnes remarks, patting more dust from his arms. “Maybe deal with that first?”

“Coward,” Scott accuses, getting on his feet and looking around. “Huh. I’m thinking this direction.”

Barnes rolls his eyes. “It’s exactly the other way, but fine. Whatever.”


End file.
